


Bring It Back

by pennilesspoet



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Past Relationship(s), Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 10:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19972744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennilesspoet/pseuds/pennilesspoet
Summary: David once heard that no sense triggers sharper memories than the sense of smell.He is not sure if that’s true, but he does know that certain scents do tend to instantly bring him back to a very specific time and place.





	Bring It Back

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo. This has no plot, really. It's just a thing I was thinking about and now here it is. 
> 
> That being said, here are a few small warnings: Some details may not be completely canon-compliant. (There is definitely past and future speculation happening here.) There is mention of abusive relationships, and of drug use, but nothing graphic. There are a few small food descriptions so...grab a snack?

David once heard that no sense triggers sharper memories than the sense of smell. 

He is not sure if that’s true, but he does know that certain scents do tend to instantly bring him back to a very specific time and place. The smell of strawberry ice cream reminds him of his early youth, summers at the shore with Adelina, sticky-sweet cream dripping through fingers wrapped delicately around a caramel-brown sugar cone. 

Clove cigarettes take him back to his surly teen years, slinking in the shadows of the schoolyard with Amanda Paulson, a drama student who was a year older and who smoked cloves because she thought it made her seem more mysterious. David never developed a taste for them, but he put up with it because Amanda was the only person he’d met to this point who was willing to kiss him.

Vinegar reminds him of Reed, a New York-based artist who cleaned all of his painting tools with vinegar and water. His studio reeked of it, and so did Reed, though David was often too high in those days to care.

Scotch is something David tries to avoid. It has never been his drink of choice, but the peaty aroma triggers his anxiety almost instantly. He prefers not to think about those three dark months, strung out and rail-thin, allowing Mychal and his horrible friends to use him for his connections and his money, and getting nothing but disdain and abuse in return.  (The one and only time Patrick drank scotch in front of him, David hyperventilated. The bottle disappeared before he awoke the next morning, and Patrick has never again mentioned it.)

David purposely filled Rose Apothecary with scents that soothe him. Lavender, lemongrass, basil, citrus - strong, fresh aromas that recall his favorite high-end spas and eateries. 

Sandalwood was a later addition, one that became closely associated with his then-business partner - warmth, strength, stability. In those early days, David would move into spaces Patrick had recently vacated, trying to chase the air that his business partner left behind. Later, after The Kiss, (and the kiss, and the kiss and the kiss...) David often found himself burying his face into Patrick’s neck, inhaling deeply in an effort to imprint Patrick’s unique signature onto himself.

~@~

After the wedding, David and Patrick moved into a two-bedroom duplex that is slightly farther away from their store but has amazing closet space and a small but beautiful backyard. 

The larger space means that David can’t immediately see into the kitchen when he comes home late one summer evening. He’d spent more time in Elmdale today than he wanted to, and all of the time spent on the road was frankly exhausting. He’s looking forward to a quiet night in with his dashing husband, who he hadn’t seen all day.

The first thing David notices is the smell. Cumin, cloves, and other spices David cannot name, but he can very distinctly remember the taste of.

It takes him back to Istanbul; unbearably humid, but the most spectacular sunset David has ever seen. He and Alexis, seated at a folding table overlooking the sea, eating a spiced rice dish in silence. It’s the first time David has seen his sister in almost two years, and he aches with how much he’s missed her. She looks thinner, older, exhausted. But her smirk is the same as ever, and her winking hasn’t improved a bit, and David loves her so much. They have to leave before they finish their food, and they get into a huge fight when Alexis refuses to come back to New York with him, but David still thinks it’s one of the best things he has ever eaten.

His house smells a lot like that grubby little food stand in Istanbul right now, and David has to physically shake his head to loosen and release the memory from his mind. 

There is music coming from the kitchen, David realizes; an old Cyndi Lauper song. He can hear Patrick singing along, his voice fading in and out either because he can’t remember the words, or (more likely) because he’s distracted with his cooking. David toes off his shoes in the entryway and pads into the kitchen. He stops at the threshold and watches appreciatively as Patrick bends over to pull a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven. The scent of roasted onions and garlic waft over him, and he recalls,  _ Brooklyn, four in the morning, hot dog cart _ , and smiles crookedly.

“What has you so deep in thought?” Patrick is suddenly much closer than he was moments ago. He is flushed and warm, but his eyes radiate pride and satisfaction.

“It smells amazing in here,” David replies, because sometimes bringing up New York and other things that dig up his past dims the light in Patrick’s eyes.

“I hope it’s good; I haven’t made this one before,” Patrick bites his lip and turns toward the cooktop. Since they moved into a place with a decent kitchen, Patrick’s passion for cooking has grown. He’s exchanged his boring business tomes for glossy recipe books and spends many evenings sitting next to David on the sofa, scrolling through the  _ New York Times _ cooking section while David catches up on  _ Drag Race _ . Patrick has taken to cooking the way he takes to everything - completely, and with all-encompassing enthusiasm. David has probably gained about five pounds since the wedding, but it is definitely worth it.

“It’s going to be delicious,” David smiles, “What can I do to help?”

Patrick brushes a soft kiss onto David’s lips. “Set the table? We can eat outside if you want to.”

There is a small stone patio in their backyard, and next to it, Patrick has planted a few of the herbs that he likes to use in his cooking. Hints of mint, basil, and rosemary waft throughout the space, along with the scent of sun-warmed grass and fresh soil from the patch of the yard where Patrick is trying to grow tomatoes. 

David sets out plates, flatware and napkins on the small glass and iron table at the center of their patio. He takes a deep breath, and feels himself relax a bit more. 

Patrick emerges a moment later with a large pot, which he sets on the table between their plates. He pulls off the lid and the spices from earlier drift into the night, carried by wisps of translucent steam. David’s mind again drifts to Istanbul, and it takes him a moment to realize that Patrick is speaking to him.

“David?”

“Hmm? Sorry, what did you say?”

“You kind of...spaced out there again. Everything okay?”

David blinks and smiles softly at his husband. Patrick is wearing an older pair of jeans that sit just right on his hips, and a worn white t-shirt that is dotted with cooking stains. He’s barefoot, and his hair is mussed on one side, and he has a bit of sauce on the side of his face. 

This messy, relaxed version of Patrick is not one many people get to see - for all of the ribbing David gets about his own hair or wardrobe, he is keenly aware of the protective shell that Patrick has built for himself with his pressed oxfords and neatly trimmed hair. This was especially important to him when he’d first arrived in Schitt’s Creek - he wanted to be taken seriously, and build a reputation as a smart businessman, because everything else in his life felt so out of his control. Even now, settled into his life, and sure of himself in his new marriage, Patrick still presents himself professionally to the outside world. David knows nobody else gets to see Patrick like this, soft and undone - his favorite version of his husband.

“David?”

“Sorry,” David smiles, and pulls Patrick into his arms, “long day.” He buries his face into Patrick’s shoulder and takes a deep breath. Sweat, spice, sandalwood. 

Home.

~@~

“Did I ever tell you about the time I had to take a new passport to Alexis in Istanbul?”

Patrick shakes his head, looking curious and a little amused. “No...uh, you told me about Vietnam, I think, but not - why was she in Turkey?”

“Doesn’t matter,” David shakes his head. He relays the memory that tonight’s dinner unearthed as they eat under a very similar tangerine-tinted sky.

“I’m glad she had you,” Patrick whispers when David wraps up his story.

“Sometimes I couldn’t help her,” David says sadly, “There were times when I was sure I’d never see her again. And then we moved here, and I saw her  _ all the time _ ,” David laughs, in an effort to lighten the mood. He thinks about Alexis’ lilac-forward perfume, and how it permeated  _ everything _ at the motel for a while. He would never admit it to anyone, least of all his sister, but the smell still brings him comfort, because it is a reminder that she is nearby, and safe.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. Patrick begins pushing food around his plate and looks at David, his eyes soft. “We should invite Ted and Alexis over this weekend. We could barbeque, or I could make that thing with the salmon Alexis likes.”

David scrunches his nose, “How about the smoked ribs thing that _David_ likes?”

“Quite the generous host, David Brewer-Rose,” Patrick laughs, but David knows that he is already thinking about side dishes for the ribs.

~@~

Years later, when their parents are gone, and Alexis, Ted and their twin boys have moved away, the smell of smoked ribs will still remind David of that weekend, the four of them in the backyard of David and Patrick’s first house, laughing over wine and an impromptu game of charades. He’ll remember sitting at their old patio table, his hand entwined with Patrick’s, laughing as Alexis recalls one of her less harrowing adventures (the really crazy ones freak Ted out). 

Scents can trigger strong memories, and most of David’s memories are beautiful.

  
  



End file.
